


Devil's Game

by Stella_STARgazer



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hints of Freakytits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_STARgazer/pseuds/Stella_STARgazer
Summary: Set during 4x1: Joan's intake into Wentworth as prisoner Ferguson.





	Devil's Game

**Author's Note:**

> There's not been many fics that have explored Joan's intake when on remand at Wentworth awaiting her trial. This idea came to me yesterday and I was really excited to get it down. It was quite fun writing, especially the dialogue between them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thank you, as always for reading! :)

Under the cover of night the Devil is transported to the high ground, where her throne has been usurped by an acolyte. It’s a complete breach of protocol for her to be here, but needs must when you’re dealing with a monster.

Governor Bennett stands stoic at the gate, ocean eyes reflecting the rough waters within:  _ though she be but little, she is fierce.  _ With the Devil herself as her mentor, she’s finally grown into the little gold crowns on her shoulders, though she never expected their weight to be so  _ heavy. _

The humidity in the air suffocates, causes sweat to bead under her stiff collar and the now impeccably crafted bun. The brawler pulls into the entrance and she takes in a deep breath, allowing the warm air to fill her lungs and fuel her bravado; before the Devil, she will show no fear. The doors swing open and out steps Murphy, the ever present scowl firmly plastered on her face. With bated breath, Vera waits for the descent of Lady Lucifer.

From the inky depths of the van, killer’s hands come into view, clasped in a mockery of prayer’s fashion. She descends to the ground with a fluid grace, like molten lava pouring from the volcano’s mouth. Her curtain of basalt hair hides her face until, with a flick of her head she shakes it free, exposing the same coal black eyes and stern features that twist into a ghost of a smirk as her gaze falls upon the mouse of a governor.

“Hello, Vera.” She goads in a husky whisper as she comes to rest at Governor Bennett’s side. Vera blinks, mouth drawn in a thin line and says nothing. Her eyes hold the torrent of a hurricane, but she keeps her emotions firmly in check. They move into the prison side by side, the only sound the heavy clank of the locks as they’re shifted into place. Nothing gets out of here, at least not in the same condition it arrived.

“I believe you know the routine, so I’ll spare us both the introduction.” Vera states coolly before proceeding down the corridor ahead of Joan and the escorting guards to the intake room. Joan watches her keenly, notices the way the smaller woman pushes out her chest and squares her narrow shoulders. She sees all, but for now, she says nothing.

The unknown male officers usher Joan into the room and Vera waves them away. Only a nameless female officer remains, as is required by protocol for prisoner intake. Vera stands at the desk, opening the bolted down laptop to begin the intake process. The other officer stands silently in the corner of the room.

“State your name and date of birth.” After a moment with no response, Vera looks up from the computer screen. She doesn’t have time for the Devil’s games.

“Don’t make me repeat myself...inmate.” She hisses, launching the dirty word like a dagger toward her target. She meets Joan’s icy stare and a challenging glare lights her tempest eyes. The slight flair of a nostril gives away Joan’s irritation, though she’s impressed by the little mouse’s bite. Instantly she recognizes the fire behind Vera’s aquamarine gaze; consider it her superpower. After a brief pause and infinitesimal quirk of a lip, she acquiesces.

“Joan Ferguson. 24 August, 1964.” She stares boldly at Vera as she awaits the next command.  _ How sweet, she thinks she’s in charge. _

“Right, photos then. Step back to the red line and face forward; make sure there’s no hair in your face.”

Joan does as instructed, turning to each profile angle ahead of Vera’s command. She may be Prisoner Ferguson now, but she’ll never fully relinquish control, and this is only a transient arrangement. Photos taken, Joan steps back to the metal table between them.

“Do you have any personal effects to turn over?” Vera continues coldly.

“Yes. The bag your officer has in hand.” The officer steps up and places it on the table.

Pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves, Vera unzips the leather satchel and beings to remove the contents. Joan’s lip twitches with disgust as her few spare items of clothing are pulled out and placed on the table. Vera goes through them slowly, intentionally taking her time to check all pockets and folds for any contraband before passing them off to the other officer for secondary inspection. She checks the few personal hygiene items as well, but the books she leaves in the bag.

In the front zip pocket she finds a single yellow pencil. Looking up to Joan she quirks an eyebrow and clenches her jaw. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, she moves her hand above the locked waste receptacle, then releases the pencil, letting it fall into the small slot on the top of the container. Joan’s eyes narrow and her bottom lip twitches, but she says nothing.

“That pile can go with you now.” Vera declares as she gestures with a nod to the clothes stacked on the table. “The books will be detained for further inspection and, pending approval, will be returned to you in your cell.” Her eyes remain cold, but there’s a trace of a smirk on her full pink lips. Joan scowls and forces a low hum of consent; yet in spite of her growing vexation, a familiar heat begins to fill her belly.

“Your psych evaluation was sent over from Sinclair and your medical evaluation will be conducted in the morning, unless you have any issues that you would like addressed now?” She tilts her head and crosses her arms as she waits for a response.

“No.” Joan states firmly, her face again devoid of emotion.

“Right. Well…you know what comes next.” Vera replies crisply. She moves to the table to collect the pile of clothes and extends them out to Joan. Still handcuffed, she lifts her arms and Vera places the pile on top of them before moving to open the door. She steps into the hall and Joan follows as they proceed toward the next room.

Vera pauses briefly at the entrance, her back to Joan as she takes in a deep breath to calm the nerves that have suddenly come over her. The rest was a cakewalk, but this...this she is not fully prepared for. The momentary slump of her shoulders does not go unnoticed by the beast at her back. Stepping aside, she puts a hand to the knob and looks up to meet Joan’s unmoving gaze.

Into the strip search they go.

Door closed, the room falls to silence. With a small nod from Vera, the second officer steps to Joan, taking the pile of clothes from her arms and placing them on the small table. She turns back to her and releases her cuffs. Joan sighs and rubs the red rings around her wrists and shakes the stiffness from her tense shoulders and elbows. After a long moment, Vera speaks.

“Remove your shoes.” Her voice breaks the silence, but the insecurity Joan expected to hear isn’t there. She eyes her former deputy for a long moment, a challenging gaze ignites her coal black eyes. Vera holds the stare without falter until she grows tired of the stand off.

“You will remove your clothes as required for the strip search, inmate, or you will be restrained again and Officer Davis and I will do it for you. The choice is yours.”  Small hands clasp together at the vee of her thighs and she stares hard at Joan, jaw set in a stern expression.

The heat in Joan’s belly spreads further and her nostrils flare at the acrimony rising in her chest. Clearly she underestimated Vera’s new found fortitude. With a sharp inhale she again relents, slipping elegant, pale feet from her shoes and nudging them into perfect alignment on the floor. Vera permits a ghost of a smirk and Joan glares at the misplaced arrogance.  _ She thinks she’s won, but oh, how naive she is. _

“Now your clothes.” Vera commands, her rigid stance remains.

Slowly Joan complies, removing first her coat and handing it over to the officer at her side.

“That will go to storage, you won’t be needing it here. Unless you’d prefer to donate it?” Acid laces her tone and she barely manages to contain the wicked smirk that tries to break across her face.

“No. Store it...if you must.” Joan retorts with an equally icy tone.

“Fine. Now, get on with the rest.”

Joan stares and with a creeping twisted grin, begins to remove the remainder of her clothes, handing them off for inspection, until she stands in her simple black undergarments.

“Underwear. Now.” Vera barks with an irritated glare.

“Eager for the main act, are we?” Joan mewls with a frosty edge. Vera huffs in response as Joan reaches to unclasp her bra. The icy glare between them could freeze fire.

Once Joan stands fully nude in the center of the room, Vera takes a step forward, issuing the final commands.

“Ears.”

With a smirk, Joan follows through, turning one and then the other for inspection.

“Hair.”

She tilts her head forward and lets it fall before her face, then shakes it with a few brisk turns of her head. 

“Ok. Arms.”

She rises back into position and extends her long arms to the sides, turning them as Vera inspects, her obsidian eyes returning to meet Vera’s hard gaze. 

“Hands.”

Fingers spread wide, she holds them up for inspection, the smirk again returning to her sly mouth.

“Mouth.”

Elegant fingers rise to lift perfectly bowed lips, exposing the empty spaces between; tongue lifts and flexes and Vera gives a curt nod.

“Turn around.”

From Olympian heights, Joan fixes Vera with a cocky gaze before turning her back to the former deputy. 

“Feet.”

One by one, she lifts them, returning her tired soles to the cold concrete floor. 

They both know what comes next, but there’s a long pause before the directive is issued and Joan permits a wicked smirk as she waits. This is where she’ll serve her riposte.

“Bend over.” To the outsider, there’s no hint of insecurity, but Joan hears it around the edges of the stern command.

The heat that’s been building since Vera’s first fiery glare makes its presence known once more. With intentionally slow movement, she bends to the governor’s will, a fiendish fire burning behind her umber eyes.

Vera blinks and takes a moment to still her nerves before casting her gaze upon her former mentor. The unmistakable sheen of damp arousal stands proudly at the apex of Joan’s thighs. An instant flush spreads across Vera’s neck and colors her ears a cherry red. She blushes further as she feels the liquid heat spread through her own core, embarrassed and equally confused at her body’s unexpected response. She clears her throat loudly and rises, casting her eyes to the floor near Joan’s feet.

“Ok, we’re done here.”

Joan straightens back to her full height and turns to face Vera, a diabolical smile plastered across her cunning face. With hesitation Vera looks up to meet her gaze. Inhaling deeply, Joan leans slightly forward as she continues to hold Vera in an intense stare.

“I can smell your arousal too, dear Vera.” She purrs, low enough that only Vera can hear the lascivious comment. Vera’s cheeks grow hot and she quickly turns her gaze to the other officer.

“Officer Davis, you may leave us. I’ll supervise Prisoner Ferguson while you call Officer Murphy. The two of you will then escort Ferguson to her cell in isolated protection. We’ll arrange for her to shower sometime tomorrow.”

Officer Davis nods and silently exits the room. Vera watches until she moves out of sight and then turns her fiery gaze to Joan, stepping in close as she looks up into the provocative gaze above her.

“Get dressed; I don’t have time for your fucking games.” Vera seethes between clenched teeth. Joan releases a sarcastic huff, then steps closer, brushing a pert pink nipple across Vera’s shoulder.

“Who’s playing games, Miss Bennett?” She quirks an inky brow with a defiant tilt of her head before slowly brushing both breasts across Vera’s narrow frame to retrieve her undergarments.

“You tell yourself you’re better because you own the moral high ground, but you’re wrong. It’s the power that makes you…. _ wet _ . You see, we’re not so different, you and I.”

A loud, sarcastic laugh spills from Vera’s mouth as she watches Joan continue to dress.

“I’m nothing like you.” She retorts hotly, shaking her head in adamant denial.

“Wrong again, dear Vera.” Joan crows, pulling on her pants with a delighted smirk.

“I would never do any of the fucked up things you’ve done.” Vera spits in disgust. Joan pulls on her sweater and collects the pile of clothes on the table before returning to Vera’s side.

“We’ll see about that. Just...give it time.”


End file.
